Sin
by Jayne Foyer
Summary: “But Hohenheim... what if we took his body, and the old knowledge – what if we played God, my dear?” Envy's story, oneshot.


She stroked his cold hand, softly pouring words of comfort into his ear. The young man on the bed was pale as death. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, completely still.

The older man put his arms around the woman. "He is gone," he whispered.

A tear slid down her face, and she brushed a tender hand across the young man's face. "Look at how peaceful he is," she whispered. "No more suffering…so young…so very young…"

She moaned in grief and agony. Her husband gently pulled her away from their son. "We shall bury him in the churchyard," he murmured to her. "So that angels shall forever watch over him."

The woman pressed her face into his chest. "Darling," she said, her voice muffled. "He was so young. He did not deserve to..."

"He is dead, Dante," said the man. "It is God's will and final judgment. He is dead."

"But Hohenheim…what if we took his body, and the old knowledge – what if we played God, my dear?"

The man stiffened. "Speak not of that blasphemy, my love."

"You know what can be done. You know how."

"I do not know."

"Don't lie to me!"

Her hands encircled his wrists in a vice-like grip. "Do not dare to lie to me, Hohenheim," she hissed. "Our son is dead. Do not lie to me."

He looked at her, a heavy expression of pain plaguing his face. "We have not a Stone."

A grin stole over Dante's shadowed face.

"A single city should be enough."

**------------------------------------------------------------------**

When the light disappeared, Dante could see nothing. "Hohenheim!" she shrieked. "Hohenheim, darling!"

A solitary figure on the ground. She began to hurry towards him – but a glint of scarlet deterred her.

In her dying husband's right hand, there lay a red stone the size of a clenched fist. She scooped it up, holding it almost lovingly. "There, there, dear Wilhelm," she whispered. "Your redemption is coming."

A groan from the floor. Her husband was lying there, with a weakened and bleeding heart. She looked at the stone. She looked at her husband. She looked at the man standing, terrified, beyond the circle.

"Listen to me, dear," she whispered in Hohenheim's ear. "Your body is weak, but your soul is still strong. Touch my hand, darling."

A brush along her fingertips.

The woman smiled and turned to the other man.

**-------------------------------------------------------------**

This time, when the light faded, there was a different body lying on the ground.

Was it a body? Surely, it was not human. But it…could it be?

"Wilhelm," whispered Dante. Her grip tightened on the red stones in her hand, and she rushed forward. "Eat these, dearest," she sighed. "Eat these red stones, my son, and you shall live forever."

Hohenheim watched his wife and his dead son, and his eyes widened in revulsion. No – no! This was not his son! This – this abomination was…

He looked away. He could still hear Dante purring those same words of comfort, though. "Don't speak, not yet… there. There's a darling. There."

A low, gurgling sound. Dante glanced back.

"Shh, don't you worry, Wilhelm. Your father… he will come back. For me. For you."

Hohenheim heard these words. He heard them and he hated them.

He hated them because they were the truth.

**---------------------------------------------------------------**

"We shouldn't have used his body."

"Why on earth not?" asked the woman, that manic look still in her eye. She stroked the boy's hair. "He's turning out to be just as handsome as he was in life."

"He can change. Look at him. We did something wrong."

"We did no such of a thing. He is… he is perfect."

The thing in the bed stirred, and its eyes fluttered open. "…Mother…"

Tears sprang to Dante's eyes. "Darling? Precious son?" A delighted laugh. "Did you hear that, Hohenheim? He spoke! He can speak!"

An uneasy feeling in the stomach. Not just Hohenheim this time. Dante could feel it too. There was something… wrong.

Wilhelm slipped under again, writhing as his limbs began to morph and he began to burst out of his own skin.

But still. No words.

_**---------------------------------------------------------------**_

_By the time Wilhelm had completed his transformation, the uneasy feeling in the pit of their stomachs had evolved. Dante and Hohenheim understood now. They had made a grave mistake. They had played a dangerous game; they had played Creator._

_And they had lost._

_This boy, this young man who could not stay in one shape for too long, was not their son._

_No._

_He was their sin._

* * *

Dude. Hohenheim is the best. :D

Also, I needed to write an Envy fic. Because he's the greatest villian ever. And, you know what, I just wanted to write something with Dante in it too. So this was perfect!

Now I have to start my Scar/Al. haha. ///

Review, please!


End file.
